Minuteman Station, deep space (29/05/2183)
Miranda Lawson tried very hard to bring her nerves under control once again. The icy lump that settled deep in her stomach certainly did not help with that. She chastised herself for the inexcusable lack of self-control - after all, she was a trained, experienced ONI operative, who had received Δ-level training and had taken part in assignments that were considered borderline Opera Night level. She was handpicked by the Illusive Man for her talents and skills, and in all her years of service, she did not disappoint the leader of Cerberus. Those who knew her were very much aware that she was no longer a little girl or an awkward teenager - yet those few who knew her would not have been surprised at her reaction.
She mentally reviewed her current assignment, catalogued her reports and plans, her mind running in circles trying to find the fault, the mistake, the error that necessitated him, of all people, coming for a visit. No matter how hard she thought, she could not find anything - unless the leaders of Cerberus were unrealistic in their expectations about the progress of Lazarus. Sure, the Illusive Man was willing to sink immense amounts of resources into bringing Shepard back, but her team barely began the work - after all, they had to make a detailed schedule for the procedures, and actually purchase the required tools. So why was he here?
With a flash of horrified insight, Miranda suspected with cold dread that yes, considering the insane standards she was expected to adhere to, her project was not progressing sufficiently well enough. And as the director, she would be expected to shoulder the responsibility of failure - even more because she knew quite well how much her colleagues actually performed, and that the pace they were setting was nothing short of punishing. Yet, for an irrational moment, she toyed with the idea of blaming any delays and issues on them - aware that this would only result in a more severe retribution later on, but that would be later … then she reined in the unworthy impulse, and forced herself into the cold, distant mentality she tended to adopt when dealing with people like her latest visitor.
The private yacht was on final approach, and she again, like so many times before, recited her usual mantra - at least this way, Oriana would be free from his attention. At least she could get a relatively normal life. At least she would be free to choose her own path. And Miranda would never allow her sister to even skirt the possibility of having to deal with him, and risking being replaced. She thought back on those fleeting minutes, scant hours she managed to share with Oriana during the years - just the two of them, behaving like normal sibling, actual sisters … she mentally nodded, her resolve crystallizing once again. Yes, for those moments, for that one person she would endure whatever he had to throw at her.
The small vessel landed, and while the ramp lowered, she took three steps, snapping to attention, dimly aware that the rest of the personnel followed suit. The airlock irised open, and Henry Lawson stepped out, wearing a stylish, casual outfit as usual - though Miranda's experienced eyes spotted the small shield generator, the ballistic weave reinforcing the cloth, and she fought to suppress a wince. He would not come dressed like this unless he expected trouble.
"Welcome to Minuteman Station, sir." Her voice was crisp, polite, and perfectly deferential, as she saluted him.
The former minister nodded shallowly, his eyes taking in the people in attendance, his stance and gaze somehow predatory, hungry.
"At ease, Operative Lawson." He started off, and summoned her to his side with a gesture. A quick signal from Miranda dispersed the crowd, directing everyone back to their job. "I trust you can give me a tour and a detailed account of your progress?"
"Of course, sir."
The answering smile she got from him sent shivers along her spine with the sheer hungry menace radiating from it.
Touring the station took several hours, during which Miranda would have gladly traded for doing containment work on a Yutani-Yi reactor going critical, or fighting a Blood Pack kill-squad barehanded. The problem, she reflected, was that Henry Lawson was quite intelligent to keep up with her technical explanations, actually pushed her for obscure details even for those aspects that she knew he had barely the basic knowledge - and thus, he expected her to make him understand, without loss of information. She learned very early, and to much pain, that he sometimes liked to bait her by pretending ignorance.
So, she explained in detail, attentive to his every minuscule sign and prompt, catering to his whims without him having to do more than quirk an eyebrow. She learned fast, and she learned well under his harsh tutelage.
They talked over the necessary wetware and cyberware that would be employed to strengthen Shepard's body - the complex mesh of bone and muscle weaves, nanomachines, ocular and audio implants, subdermal armor, cleaned-up eezo nodule network, improved lungs - the list went on and on. Of course, this was the easy, routine part of the project - after all, it may have been expensive and rather broad in scope, but the only experimental procedure was the improvement on the eezo nodules. For a brief moment, she forgot who she was talking to, and actually suggested either giving that a lower priority, or omitting it outright, as it was not critical, and in her opinion, needlessly overcomplicated everything. The answering glance was enough to firmly shut down that line of thought.
The more esoteric and less-tried part of the project would be reversing or fixing the damage done to Shepard's brain - both by the haemorrhages caused by overexertion, and the lack of oxygen from a suit leak. Sure, they could try and use the clones for brain tissue, employ nanites, add cortical implants - and that, in her opinion, might solve the physical issues, but memories, experience, personality were a different matter entirely. Replicating those would be the real challenge - and they would be venturing into unknown territory, even considering the recent developments and studies published in Kathmandu.
Hesitantly, she provided him with the outline of planned procedures, the resource needs and timeline involved, as well as a short list of personnel whose expertise would be useful for the various stages of the project. To her surprise, after a brief deliberation, he complied with her suggestions, only adding an entry here and there, when some practical issues he knew of made her suggested options unavailable.
The security improvements were also discussed in-depth - though it was clear to both that the whole work would soon be moved to Lazarus Station, it was agreed that the remoteness of the location by itself was not sufficient in and of itself, and that other defensive measures would be needed. Staffing the station with humans raised the issue of secrecy and provisions, while mechs, no matter how hardened, were always susceptible to hacking and advanced infowarfare tricks. In addition, considering the nature of the Reapers, using mechs may have other drawbacks as well, in case they or their indoctrinated agents found out about Lazarus Station. For the time being, they tabled this issue, though Miranda knew that Henry Lawson expected a full, detailed solution from her posthaste.
After the gruelling hours of the inspection, back in the hangar bay, Miranda stood once again at attention, saluting him as he prepared to board his yacht. He stopped for a brief moment, his stance, his whole bearing shifting just a tiny bit, and Miranda's skin crawled as the hungry eyes drank in her figure, and she fought to remain calmly in place - she felt that should she give in to her instincts and flee, he would hunt her down and devour her, insane as the notion sounded. Even so, nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
"You have done well, daughter." And with a nod towards Miranda, Henry Lawson boarded his ship, and left the station.
Back in her office, Miranda engaged the privacy measures, checked for any unwelcome presents her progenitor may have left for her, then allowed herself to slump down, the stress of the past hours catching up to her. She was not surprised at the cold sweat on her brow, or the uncontrollable shaking of her hands. She knew that she would have to make a report to the Illusive Man, and the more she delayed, the more she would have to explain, but she found herself not exactly caring this one time. She felt even more drained than usual when dealing with Henry Lawson - and the ever-present menace the man seemed to exude was somehow even stronger this day. She shuddered, as her treacherous mind replayed the small, seemingly innocuous incidents and gestures she had seen him make - and she frowned, concentrating.
Yes, there was something off about him. She could not point out the specific issue that tipped her off, it was likely a host of nigh-invisible signals even she would have missed on any other day, or in case of a shorter visit. She shivered again as her memory threw images at her consciousness - of the hungry, leering ghost of a smile on his lips, the menacing, insectile bearing when a sudden noise or motion was perceived, the raw hunger of his gaze, especially as he left… no, the more she thought about it, the more sure she was about her insane-seeming theory.
Still, she would have to take care with how to phrase it when she brought it to the Illusive Man - after all, her judgment was not exactly impartial when it came to Henry Lawson, and she had a vested interest in dealing with him… but even so, she felt compelled to point it out to her superior during their talk. At the very least, Miranda was sure that unlike Lawson, the Illusive Man would not punish her.
Tuchanka, contested Clan Urdnot territory (01/06/2183)
Tali decided that she hated Tuchanka. And being who and what she was, the young quarian did so in a meticulous, passionate way, throwing her whole self into that emotion. No, the fact that she had come to be rather fond of her self-appointed uncle did not mitigate her feelings. Neither did the knowledge that what they were doing mattered. She also would not care about the benefits that came with her passing the insanity Clan Urdnot considered as their rite of passage - those were the most terrifying five minutes of her life; and she swore that she would somehow, somewhen take revenge on Wrex for omitting details about the whole thing. Still, she supposed she should not complain - after all, she survived, at the low cost of an impressive collection of bruises, and a minor suit leak easily fixed … and a thankfully small number of breeding requests, which still left her in quite the emotional turmoil.
She was getting distracted again. On one hand, that was infuriating - she had to focus on her current task, if she wanted to succeed on her own. On the other hand, it was a welcome distraction from the bleakness of her predicament - and she did honestly hate this planet. If she was honest, it was not because of the over-boastful, over-aggressive krogan. Or the deadly creatures that roamed unchecked. Or the oppressive heat. Those she could all deal with, one way or another. No, she decided that she hated Tuchanka for one reason, and one reason only - sand. The ever-present menace that was everywhere, and got into everything; including her suit filters, seals … and it made life so much more miserable.
With a mental headshake, Tali once again focused on her present situation, which sadly did not improve while she was busy swearing vengeance and eternal hatred on sand in general and Tuchankan sand in particular. Her eyes narrowed as she once again felt herself being distracted - that would not do at all. Even if her fingers danced over her omnitool with consummate speed and skill, adjusting minute parameters, following the progress of her little tool burrowing its way through the Blood Pack encryption.
Tali allowed herself a brief, vindictive chuckle. Sure, both she and the rest of the small Urdnot force were overwhelmed by the Blood Pack, their well-known viciousness and savagery surpassing even her imagination, as the mixed force of krogan, vorcha, and krork descended on the small, abandoned hospital they were assessing for the future experiments. Thinking back on the original briefing, Tali wondered why she seemed to be the only one who questioned using a hospital that was beyond the current safe area of Clan Urdnot - especially since there were a number of established hospitals in said area. Sure, there was some merit to having a more secluded, less obvious location for this project, and for sheltering the professor, but in Tali's opinion, all that could have been established at one of the existing sites.
But no, Wrex just chuckled in that infuriating way of his, and sent them off anyway, to see if the old, disused building complex could be renovated, the power plant restarted, and all the other myriad tasks of getting it back to fully operational status - and maybe more, as she suspected the old krogan had not simply asked her to go just because she eclipsed all Urdnot engineers when it came to dealing with dated tech.
Anyway, she once again chastised herself - even though her breaching program was making headway, and in her estimate, it would not be much longer before she could overwhelm the brutish encryption on her cell door. With a vicious smirk, she reflected on the stupidity of the Blood Pack who were kind enough to leave her spare, disguised omnitool, thinking that a frail, weaponless suit rat like her was absolutely no challenge or danger to them. Her smirk fell as she thought back on the fate of her krogan teammates - sure, they did give a worthy account of themselves, but they all died trying to repel the overwhelming numbers of attackers. If they were a good representation of Clan Urdnot warriors, then her honorary uncle just might be able to bend Tuchanka to his will.
As her programs were working on hacking the force cage and codelocks confining her to her cell, which in better days was one of the ICU chambers of the hospital, she considered how she might deal with the guards stationed at her cell, with a low-powered omnitool, and a single knife. If it were only vorcha or those krork-things, she believed herself to be capable of killing them, especially since she could count on the element of surprise. But her guards also included krogan, so it would be much, much harder. With effort, Tali suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically at that - there had to be less painful suicide methods than taking on Blood Pack krogan hand-to-hand. She was not Shepard, or Wrex - or even that bosh'tet Garrus; she was still just a teenage quarian reliant on her armored encounter suit to survive even in non-violent situations.
The crackling, static-laced sound of the internal comm system she successfully shut out from her conscious mind intruded rudely, as the boisterous, rough snarling that passed for communication among the Blood Pack gave way to howls of pain, the roar of flamethrowers, and the deep booming of an oversized handgun. For a moment, she was confused - there was no chance of reinforcements yet, and all of her party were dead, the mercenaries made very sure of that. Realization hit a moment later, and her jaw dropped. It could not be him, he was just an elderly academic! Then some of the pieces began to fall into place, and her eyes narrowed. Yes, the old salarian was just a doctor - who practiced his vocation on Omega, of all locations. Without being molested by the various thugs and mercenaries frequenting that hellhole. Wrex, of all people, seemed to handle him with grudging respect - and so did the rest of Clan Urdnot, come to think of it. Those things suggested two possibilities for his background, and since he was not a Spectre to her admittedly-limited knowledge, that meant STG.
Tali chuckled briefly. Of course he was former STG. Who else would be knowledgeable enough about the genophage, familiar enough with Tuchanka, and insane enough to actually come here, despite the vicious hatred krogan felt towards salarian. Still, that only meant that she did have capable backup - she was not a damsel in distress to lazily await rescue. That said, she paid more attention to the comm system, as well as her jailers, noting how they repositioned themselves to cover the entry points to the block, and she grudgingly had to admit that they seemed competent enough, if not up to MFM or Clan Urdnot standards. A notification blinked in her suit's HUD, and she swallowed. Two more minutes, and she would be free from the cell.
The shooting and screaming from the comm system died off, leaving the ICU in ominous silence, only broken by the growling communication between the half dozen Blood Pack members guarding her. That is, until the central vid screen lit up, showing an elderly salarian with part of a cranial horn missing. Tali's eyes narrowed at the image - something was off with his coloring, the image was strangely blurred, even more than the outdated, damaged system would warrant.
"What do you want, salarian?" The mercenary leader growled. "Why don't you give up, unless you want to see your little suitrat splattered all over her cell's walls."
"Demand noted, deemed insane ploy. Now, please release quarian or face consequences."
Deep, disbelieving laughter echoed in the block, and Tali considered - true, there was but one entrance, no windows, sewers, or air vents that would allow even a slim salarian entry. And while he did manage to cut through the rest of the pack, these bastards had a clear field of fire, and despite his skills, he was old, and age never spared the reflexes. Except maybe for Wrex, she mused for a brief second.
"Just try and get her, you hornless freak!"
A little less than a minute left - and maybe with her getting out, she could distract the guards enough for him to pull this off. Then Tali's eyes widened as the reinforced door irised open, and the hallway was instantly inundated with a storm of fire as the mercenaries opened fire. The hail of bullets and roaring of flames subsided after a few seconds. The lingering heat from the flamethrower did make it even harder to perceive, but Tali's eyes narrowed as she caught the tell-tale shimmer of a tactical cloak, before a small, metallic sound drew gazes from the more alert mercenaries - especially since it came from behind them, where a shimmering, distorted image of a salarian manifested seemingly from thin air.
The reflexes of the mercenaries were quite good, as the salarian was only halfway to aiming his oversized gun, before they riddled him with bullets, and a vorcha hosed him with a flamethrower - making the salarian dissipate into motes of light.
Three small omni-fabricated cylinders rolled into the mercenaries just when Tali's omnitool pinged, alerting her of the imminent breakthrough - just when the flashbangs exploded, and the whole hallway became a blinding, howling den of chaos. The split-second warning she had was enough for Tali to filter out the worst of it, allowing her to see the lithe figure of the salarian appear from under a tactical cloak next to one of the krogan, blow apart its skull with that oversized handgun, before aiming a kick at the vorcha with the flamethrower to light the other krogan on fire, then the second shot spattered the contents of the vorcha's skull all over the wall. His omnitool flared with an overload charge, and the fourth mercenary became a spasming marionette, before a shove sent the vorcha colliding with one of the krorks, the green brute's gun practically sawing its flailing comrade apart, before the slash of an omniblade sent the tusked head rolling - but the move cost both time and distance, and the last krork was raising its monstrous cannon, to blow both the professor and Tali to bits.
The mercenary roared in pained fury as Tali's thrown blade found one of its deep-seated eyes and sank in almost to the hilt - then the roar changed pitch to a tortured scream as the quarian's omnitool flashed, shorting its internal power but sending a very powerful charge of electricity straight into its brain.
Mordin Solus flashed a grin at the young quarian, as he reached out a hand to steady her.
"Nice work." A quick exhale. "As stated before: they never see me coming."
Asgard system, Exodus cluster (16/07/2183)
The colony of Terra Nova was considered one of the crown jewels of the Systems Alliance, important both from economic and military reasons. Its vast shipyards were second only to those of the Sol system itself, the resources of the system, the proximity of Terra, and the constant presence of the Alliance Sixth Fleet all presented a very enticing destination for colonists - and naturally, all that resulted in Terra Nova becoming one of the highest priority targets for any possible enemy of the SA. Of course, the system was well-protected; a constantly-shifting pattern of patrol ships and elements of the Sixth Fleet (including a dreadnought and two carriers) were enough to discourage overt assaults, while detachments of N-level operatives, with a dozen N7 in command were considered ample deterrent for clandestine operations. The electronic systems were top-notch, the security personnel manning them thoroughly screened. Numerous countermeasures were taken to avoid infiltration attempts both to the electronic systems and the physical sites as well - firewalls, booby traps, tailored omni-viruses lying in dormancy, EMP hardening, shifting patterns of guard patrols, VI-controlled and human-monitored surveillance and control systems, and so forth. The presence of special operatives also meant that there were more esoteric methods employed as well, to prevent remote access, identify and dispose of intruders, and as additional constant sources of monitoring. A favorite target for N7 blood games and Navy tactical scenarios, the Terra Nova shipyard was considered only slightly easier pickings than Terra or Mars - an estimate that was also echoed by the Council, the Hegemony, and the Broker as well.
And that was just on normal days. When dignitaries came visiting, security levels were raised to almost full wartime readiness - especially when somebody like President Speer came personally, to oversee the launch of the first new Everest-class dreadnoughts. The people responsible for defending and securing the system were justified in their confidence to repel frontal attacks or covert operations even simultaneously, regardless of which factions conducted said attempts (of course, they were fully unaware of the advanced, biomechanical surveillance devices deposited by loyal, fanatic agents as well as unfortunate, unaware catspaws - and that all data they stored about the past attempts and theoretical scenarios, along with patrol routes and current force disposition was monitored by the enemy).
Due to the beefed-up security measures, increased naval presence, numerous AIS teams and Presidential protection details, everybody expected a very tiring, nerve-wracking, but ultimately peaceful few days. There was even an upswing in commercial vessels arriving, no doubt taking advantage of the additional security to deploy their precious cargo - not that there was too much of a chance of pirates or slavers attacking SA ships. After all, Torfan was still a potent, recent reminder of what humanity was willing and capable to do to those who would prey on them.
Later on, senate investigations and court martials would corroborate the belief of the system commanders, ultimately placing the responsibility to the shoulders of other people, not present in-system. Their decisions and actions would be by and large vindicated, the few faults committed ultimately negligible in the face of the unfolding disaster - and sadly, rather understandable. After all, they were only human. The inquiries by the Senate and the Fleet Master would lay the foundations for the shadowy struggle to be conducted in the coming months - with the Alliance still in the dark about the true nature of their enemies and the capabilities they possessed.
Not a single operator in Flight Control took extra notice of the slowly maneuvering bulk freighter closing towards the docking area. It had peacefully followed instructions, provided the proper codes and clearances, the customs team did not report anything unusual or suspicious on board (their bodies were never found, their screams and the sounds of combat swallowed by hypertech jamming devices, their identities usurped upon return by operatives loyal to another cause).
The MSV Dresden headed for final approach unmolested, well clear of the military docks housing the SSV Everest and SSV Annapurna, as well as the four almost-finished new carriers. The pilot of the oversized civilian vessel was careful to precisely follow instructions, projecting the image of a sufficiently overawed and cowed civilian. That is, until the pre-arranged signal arrived (the strange, soul-grating atonal shriek was akin to the buzzing wings of an immense biomechanical swarm, fully undetectable unless fitted with custom augmentations in the central nervous system).
The busy, ant-like scurrying of the orbital dockyard was broken as the huge bulk freighter turned into a brilliant, expanding ball of fire, debris, and electronic jamming - blinding all watching personnel and nearby monitoring equipment, rendering the emerging assault shuttles practically invisible. The waves of multi-frequency jamming and garbage data also masked the vicious automated worms burrowing deep into the VI systems struggling to compensate for the sudden overwhelming data flow. The biomechanical and augmented operators howled in their couches and at their workstations, as the hungry claws of malicious code reached into their selves, turning cyberbrains, artificial limbs, biotech and high-tech enhancements against their owners, frying nerves, muscles, flesh - when not turning the unfortunates into helpless marionettes silently screaming within their own minds.
Simultaneously, hundreds of firefights erupted as previously calm, everyday residents of the system turned on those in their vicinity, guns and omniblades reaping a toll of blood from the unwary before the rioters were put down - and it would be only later that the holographic tattoo of the interlocked, broken hexagons would be found on their bodies, the only common link between them, apart from traces of nanoscale tampering.
The assault shuttles swarmed towards the military docks, three for each capital ship. The defense grid ignored them, as it was still in the middle of waging a war in cyberspace against itself, the various emplacements unable to track, to lock on, or fire - in hindsight, that particular bit of coding would be praised as the most crucial reason the attackers were not able to turn the defense grid against the planet or the orbitals.
Aboard the dreadnoughts and carriers still tethered to the docks, frantic skeleton crews raced to contain the onboard Yutani-Yi reactors that were on their way to awakening thanks to the alien signal battering down security measures and flooding the ship systems with contradicting impulses. Captain Langley aboard the Everest laid the foundation of her future fame when she ordered the computers shut down less than a minute into the attack, and executed and emergency micro-FTL jump two minutes afterwards, clearing the comparatively short range of the alien signal, and containing her vessel's reactor. The other five ships were not so fortunate. The Eisenstein perished in an explosion of dark flames, the dying screams of her crew and the malevolent atonal shrieking of the awakened shoggoth battering at the minds of those nearby. The Tsiolkovsky slipped from her berth, erratically firing maneuvering thrusters to keep itself from plummeting into the gravity well of Terra Nova, while her crew fended off the attacking batarians and fought to contain the reactor. The Annapurna became a slaughterhouse, as six assault shuttles full of elite batarian shock troopers and biotics charged its crew and the presidential security detachment onboard, the chaotic firefight turned into a bloodbath when the reactor containment imploded, birthing numerous abominations across the ship. The Dyson tore free from her docking slip, her dark shape sliding with a stately grace towards Terra Nova, while aboard batarians and humans alike were drowned under the tidal wave of darkness, teeth, power and malice that was an enraged shoggoth, before the self-destruct tore the ship into pieces, turning it into a shower of meteors that burned up in the atmosphere. The Komarov, similar to the Everest, vanished with the pseudo-motion of an FTL jump, only to turn into a brief, yawning vortex of unsane colors and shrieking insanity a fraction of a second later, as its reactor containment failed catastrophically, hurling all into the depths of the n-dimensional space.
The naval vessels tasked with defending the system were presented with another threat when fortress asteroid X-57 lit up its fusion drives, and began to accelerate towards the shipyard and the planet. The surface of the asteroid saw vicious battle, as heavily cyberized batarian shock troopers in black armor fought with fanatical determination to hold off Alliance marines attempting to retake the drive control stations before the batarians could slag the controls. Flashes of explosions, both mundane and biotic lit up the small planetoid, as the four-eyed aliens received reinforcements in the form of LOKI and JOTUN mechs that poured from another ore container. Later investigation would determine that the mechs and batarians alike managed to get to the asteroid in storage containers that were equipped with highly sophisticated jamming tech that fooled both electronic and esoteric security measures - and since the ore haulers were cleared by customs, the dirtside inspection was cursory, only conducted with scanners; after all, empty containers on a planetoid which doubled as mining station were not exactly a rare occurrence.
The fusion torches pushed the asteroid onto a collision course with the dockyard - and the ranking survivor of the marine detachment, all too aware of the extent the batarians managed to sabotage the controls and the guidance systems, signalled for the system defense fleet to open fire, hoping that volleys of mass accelerator rounds and torpedoes might be enough to crack X-57 apart rendering the danger of an extinction-level kinetic strike manageable. The first shots were fired scant minutes later, as the SSV Shasta reached extreme range - and in fifteen minutes it became quite evident that without resorting to C-type bombardment, there was practically no chance of breaking apart the asteroid in time. Captain Feige's decision to request permission for using bombardment shells may have been a grievous mistake in other circumstances - however, the SSV Everest dropped out from FTL within range of X-57, and Captain Langley's reckless gambit of firing her vessel's positron cannon while rerouting all power from the reactor paid off, and the asteroid broke apart when the immensely powerful beam hit the site of the previous volley. However, the small victory was not without cost, as the safety interlocks of the Everest's reactor failed, releasing the already partially awake and murderous shoggoth. Despite severe losses to her crew and suffering several wounds (including the loss of the left eye, the right arm, and being partially consumed), Captain Langley managed to contain the rampaging shoggoth until an N7 team could be dispatched to finish the job.
Beyond the system's edge, lurking outside the detection range of the defensive installations and patrol ships, Ka'hairal Balak was considering the results of the attack, and concluded that while they did not fully achieve their goals, the Hegemon would likely allow him to live. Based on the intercepted and decrypted messages, their raid managed to critically wound the human president Speer, the dockyards were heavily damaged, the capital ships to be launched were either destroyed or at the very least extensively damaged, putting more strain on the remaining Alliance shipyards. Also, the raid did verify the capabilities and willingness of the allies of the Hegemony - and Balak was forced to admit to himself that they impressed him. Both the Broker's people and the Collectors provided excellent tactical and strategic advantages via intel, equipment and specialists, yet deep down, the batarian Captain wondered what they would demand for the undeniably useful assistance. He just prayed to the Pillars that the Hegemon was wiser and more far-seeing than himself, and could avoid any potential pitfalls and intrigues.
The repercussions of the attack again shook the delicate status quo - the Alliance descended into internal power struggles, as its leaders fought for the Presidency. The previously tolerated members of Cerberus were hunted down, forced into hiding, as evidence of their organization's involvement came to light, whipping the populace into a frenzy that Terra Firma did not fail to capitalize upon. The officer cadre, especially the upper echelons, were scrutinised and purged, as Fleet Master Sheridan cracked down on all who were perceived to be less than zealous in their adherence to the unspoken humanity first tenet (strangely, very few noticed that with few exceptions, the previously-capable victims of the purge vanished after their trials).
In Vancouver, General Erwin von Ungern-Sternberg noted the events with grim satisfaction and swore that the sacrifice of his people at Terra Nova would not be in vain.
Henry Lawson, former Minister of Education, committed suicide when the first outcry against Cerberus was raised.
And those sensitive to the currents of aetheric origins, or n-dimensional physics, dreamt of the ancient pyramid rendered long to dust, and the laughter of the unnamed pharaoh who was entombed within.